LB: Culture relative to homeland is a big idea. Homeland is something that is always in the back of my mind. I’ve been fortunate to be doing a lot of archaeological survey work beyond the political boundaries of the reservation in areas Hopi consider to be their true homeland. People have asked me to draw maps of what is a homeland for Hopi, and I find it difficult to connect the dots and say this is the boundary. I’m always more inclined to use a dashed line or some symbol that indicates that it’s ephemeral, in a sense. When I’m out doing my archaeological survey, I see the artifacts, the assemblages that our ancestors used, and in a way that signifies our homeland. As a Hopi person out there in the landscape you really get a true understanding that our homeland extends across the Four Corners region.

As a culture, you really have to be cognizant of what our ancestors were doing. My father and I have been out during the hunting seasons. When I come across an archaeological site, as an archaeologist what interests me is scouring the ground and seeing what kind of artifacts are there. I look at the pottery, I find arrowheads, projectile points. You find room habitations. I go back to camp at the end of a day of work or a day of hunting and I talk with people. My father will look at the artifacts I show him and he’ll say, “Just think. They survived out here with far less than we have now.” And in that sense, they knew more than we do. Could we transport ourselves back 800 years and survive as they did with what we would term primitive tools? At the time, that was the cutting edge of technology.

Wupatki Landscapes

There’s a deep spiritualness in just sitting in the woods, sitting on a hill, watching the sun rise, watching the sun set, watching it go across the sky. Unfortunately, we’re not exposed to that on a daily basis. I go to work, I go to the office; I’m in an enclosed space. But I’m really fortunate that, in some of my other work, I’m able to be a daily part of what nature really is and get a true sense of experiences of Hopi ancestors that have led us to be where we are today in the world. It’s a real deep thought process. It’s one of those things I’m always rehashing in my mind.

I recently came back from working on a survey project over in the Walapai country west of here a couple of hundred miles. During this project, we came across artifacts that showed they were living in a different lifestyle compared to what we find here around Flagstaff or northern Arizona in the Four Corners region. They’re still Hopi ancestors—that’s how we perceive them. But how did they come to that type of technology? How was it that they viewed their own world perspective that directed them to become who they are?

So it’s a broad landscape in terms of that concept of culture as homeland and how we relate to the environment, what we take from it, these experiences and how we use them in our modern-day lives to kind of direct how we live now.

Grand Canyon Vista

You talk about the commons, about borders, but those borders are arbitrary in some sense. We’re all a part of these landscapes, whether we’re Hopi or Anglo or Walapai, Navajo, Zuni or whatever our ethnic background is. We all have impacts in some ways on these landscapes. Through my archaeological work you see that. There’s a lot of research about how prehistoric peoples changed their landscape and what can we learn from some of their mistakes.

Chaco Canyon has been used as a prime example of landscape change initiated by human interaction on a wide scale, and how the impacts prehistoric populations were having on the landscape led to their demise, so to speak. What can we learn from that? That’s one of the things Hopi stresses a lot in our teachings, that there are a lot of good things that came from our ancestral history: positive values and philosophical ways of thinking. But there are also some negative lessons we have to own up to and take responsibility for that will teach us.

Colorado River Springs

How are we as modern Hopis and as a society going to interact with our environment? For me, that’s where culture as homeland comes in. I get to see this huge landscape across the Southwest. I get to see how prehistoric peoples were living in landscapes separated by two, three, four hundred miles. They all had to understand that they had to live within their means. In some instances, they didn’t live within their means, and that caused turmoil and chaos and caused things to go wrong for themselves and their society. You tie all of that together, you bring all of these different examples within the Southwest of prehistoric cultures experiencing good and bad changes, and I think that’s what Hopi is trying to remember. So there’s a lot tied into that idea of culture as homeland. That is the common foundation that we all have to live by, I think.

JL: I’ve got a question apropos of that. You have a deep, deep sense of your home culture, Hopi culture. You also have a pretty profound sense of—how to call it—monoculture, which is fast turning into global culture. Can you characterize what you see as the differences between the two points of view? There are probably more than two points of view.

LB: Well, I guess in some ways Hopi culture is what I’ve been taught, and it has kind of instructed me as to how I should live. It’s about that concept of sustainability, knowing what your limitations are as an individual and as a society, as a group of people living in a specific area. You look at Hopi culture; we’ve come to understand that we live in a desert environment. That understanding means that we have to live a certain type of lifestyle that doesn’t push the limitations of the environment. You look at our farming lifestyle, what we’ve been able to achieve with our agricultural products, most importantly corn. The corn is a direct product of us living in this desert environment. It’s well known that Hopi have strains of corn that are drought-resistant, grow well in desert environments and are suited to the types of soil we have.

Then, with that come all of those philosophical ideas of understanding. We all hear that term now—“water is life.” That’s part of the basic foundation of Hopi cultural perspective; it’s one of them, there are multiple. I think that the landscape dictates how we structure our world view and come to terms with where we choose to live. Take Phoenix, for example. You drive down the valley and get past Black Canyon City, and immediately, within five, 10 miles, you start to hit all of the outgrowth, the subdivisions that are popping up. How are they going to be able to sustain those communities, not only with water, but just in terms of basic resources?

I don’t know if people really understand the limitations they’re pushing in certain environments. I think there’s a contrast there in terms of how Hopi have viewed understanding our limitations versus a monoculture or dominant culture relying on technology to see them through. As we all know, technology will only get you so far, and it comes down to human ingenuity and perseverance to see you through some of the harder times.

That sense of having a spiritual basis ties into that as well. You really have to have faith, not so much in the technology, but in your own understanding. As Hopi, we understand where we live. We live in a desert. That sets our boundaries. Does the rest of society also have that boundary, or are they just kind of living in a bubble that they keep blowing bigger and bigger and hope that it’s not going to burst? I think that’s one of the basic differences I see between Hopi versus the outside dominant culture. I think maybe there are always a few people who realize the imminent danger of what’s going on, but they are few and far between; their voices aren’t heard, and progress is always put ahead of sustainability.

I see that at home as well. Even as Hopi we have to be cognizant of our own progress in terms of development. We have limited resources. Unless some worldwide catastrophe happens, we’ll never go back to those days of the ancestral sites I visit. We’ll never be living in those types of conditions, unless we bring it upon ourselves. So we’re in an almost cyclical way of thinking. Are we just holding onto certain things, the good parts, and forgetting some of the negative changes that were brought upon us by our own actions? We have to learn to apply these broad philosophical ideas of how to live to our modern way of living.

I think that a lot of people for a number of years have looked to Hopi as a model of how to live sustainably. If we can do it in such a limited environment with limited resources on a small scale, maybe those types of examples can be applied to the larger global society. And it’s not just Hopi but all of those indigenous cultures around the world that have learned the hard way. We didn’t have the technology we have now. Whatever the Earth provided is what we lived off of. We weren’t able to coax more from it. So I think as a Hopi, and listening to other Hopis talk about how we’re supposed to live against how the modern society lives, that’s one contrast I can see in terms of using one as an example to help the other.

Lyle Balenquah has a Master’s degree in Archaeology from Northern Arizona University (NAU) and rows his raft down the San Juan, Green, and Colorado rivers. Bioregional documentarian Jack Loeffler and his daughter Celestia Loeffler’s recent book is Thinking Like a Watershed.www.loreoftheland.org

Throughout the American Southwest are thousands of prehistoric architectural remains that were once the homes, ceremonial centers and gathering places for the Indigenous peoples who occupied this vast geographic area. Ranging in size from pit-houses to large village and cliff-dwelling complexes, and including many forms and layouts, these structures represent the last 1,000 years of Southwestern Indigenous architectural skill. These sites, “ruins” as some call them, continue to serve as important and sacred places to the descendants of the original builders. Modern day Pueblo tribes such as the Hopi in northeastern Arizona and those residing in New Mexico, including the Acoma, Laguna, Zuni and Rio Grande River Pueblos, are all direct descendants from the ancestral peoples who built and occupied archaeological sites throughout the Southwest.

Many of these sites are now included in parks and monuments (federal, state, tribal, non-profit), serving to educate and inform millions of tourists from within the United States, as well as from around the world. As part of this educational platform, much of the architecture that remains at these sites has been excavated in the past, or is currently being excavated as part of ongoing scientific research. While these activities provide tourists with an up close and personal experience, as well as allowing current researchers access to new scientific data, these sites face continued preservation issues as they are unearthed and exposed to natural and human elements.

Wall-fall rubble and accumulated sediments that once filled these sites as part of the deterioration process, also served to preserve and protect portions of the architecture from the ever present impacts of time and erosion. Much of the architecture that we presently see at major archaeological sites such as Mesa Verde, Chaco Canyon, Wupatki, Kawestima and many others is due in part to continuous, natural preservation that occurred over several centuries. Yet with their excavation, archaeologists and other researchers realized there was a need to find other ways to further preserve and protect the excavated architecture that remained standing. Thus beginning in 1891, with the preservation of Casa Grande Pueblo in southern Arizona, the “Age of Stabilization” was born and with it, came various preservation efforts, some involving partial or total reconstruction of the ancestral sites throughout the Southwest.

While much of this past preservation work contributed greatly to the scientific understanding of Southwestern prehistoric cultures, not all of it is beneficial to the sites themselves. Preservation efforts conducted during the last 100 years often used substitutes, such as Portland cement, steel re-bar and other modern materials as replacements for more traditional, organic materials. This use of synthetic materials by early preservation workers, many of whom were actually maintenance personnel supervised by field archaeologists, offered a seemingly long-term and easy solution to the deterioration dilemma. These materials provided the opportunity to stabilize prehistoric structures with minimal expenditures in man-hours and funds, resources that were and continue to be in short supply. Unbeknownst to the preservationists of that time, we now know that some synthetic materials are unsuitable for use in the preservation of prehistoric structures.

This is because some synthetic materials do not have the same technical properties as traditional materials used by prehistoric peoples. The most noticeable example is the use of Portland cement as a substitute in place of original mortars, which often were combinations of locally available soils, clays and tempers. Compared with these types of mortars, Portland cement is harder and less porous, thus it often acts to channel and trap moisture within interior wall cores that over time resulted in accelerated deterioration of original stone and mortar. In addition, modern cements are not as flexible or elastic in nature as compared with traditional mortars. Modern cements often have differing rates of contraction and expansion than traditional mortars, resulting in an architectural space in which the materials work against each other, causing increased structural deterioration and loss of original architecture.

Aside from contributing to the accelerated erosion of structural elements of prehistoric architecture, use of incompatible materials within the preservation process also led to an alteration of the natural aesthetic and integrity of prehistoric sites. Cement mortars used in historic preservation efforts were often tinted with color additives to try and match the prehistoric mortars. Long-term exposure to ultra-violet radiation from sunlight has dramatically changed the appearance of the tinted cement mortar to a variety of colors, ranging from purple to pink tones. As a result of using modern cements, many prehistoric sites now exhibit qualities that are practically irreversible and give them an artificial look and feel.

For the average visitor who spends but a few moments touring these sites, it maybe hard to notice that there are on-going preservation concerns with the sites themselves. Aren’t “ruins” supposed to look like that? From the viewing space of interpretive trails and overlooks, these sites may look as if they have sustained centuries of deterioration with little to no effect. Yet for those who are actively charged with their care and preservation, the realization is that there are far more complex issues affecting the condition, appearance, and integrity of these ancient structures.

As a former Ruins Preservation Specialist with the Flagstaff Area National Monuments, which includes 3 park units, Wupatki National Monument, Walnut Canyon National Monument and Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument, I saw first hand these types of problems. Identifying and understanding the stabilization problems discussed here was a task that occupied much of my time. In addition, because I am a person of Hopi ancestry and a descendant of those who built this architecture, there was added importance for me to conduct preservation work that is not only effective, but culturally appropriate and respectful of the prehistoric origins of these sites.

From a Hopi perspective, what can be considered as appropriate preservation methods? One “traditional” Hopi perspective believes that our ancestral Hopi homes should be left to decay in a natural state. Sites unoccupied for generations should return to mounds of rubble and soil, crumbling into pieces of disarticulated architecture, spewing out the material traces of Hopi ancestors. This is in line with a philosophy about the cycle of life and death; these homes and ceremonial structures having been borne out of the earth, “living” a life with their human occupants, only to return back to the earth. These homes and places of worship now only contain the spirits of those who built and occupied their spaces. The memory of a place and those who lived there is held within oral histories of their descendants. Thus it can be said that the very act of preservation goes against these beliefs.

So why do preservation work at all?

Looking at it from a larger perspective, some may say this question can be applied to all of Archaeology and Cultural Resource Management (CRM) work. That is, why should Indigenous descendants be involved in these efforts? In answering this question, many academics, both Indigenous and non, have produced a large body of research about the effects and relationships between Indigenous peoples and Western researchers that come to study them. To say the least, it is not always a reciprocal interaction. From the Hopi perspective, we have over 400 years of history on our side to attest to this fact. Yet, while it is easy to focus on the negative, and may even be necessary to facilitate moving forward, it is not the focus of this writing. Rather, I am asking if there is a “Common Ground” we can come to, at least in regards to preservation work. In seeking an answer, we must look for other ways that scientific research and efforts can benefit Indigenous cultures and their ancestral past.

To do so, I must look to other teachings from Hopi culture that state these ancestral sites are referred to as the “footprints” of the ancestors, physical proof of previous generations occupying vast tracts of the American Southwest and beyond. Included in this ideology of “footprints” is the material culture of Hopi ancestors; the ceramics, lithics & groundstone, textiles and burials. All of these were left behind to verify Hopi oral histories of our ancestral clan migrations across an ancient landscape; teaching future generations about Hopi longevity and of our covenant to be stewards of this earth for time immemorial.

Hopi concepts of our ancestral history are both complex and varying. This is because each Hopi clan has its own understanding of their ancestral movements across the southwest and beyond. Not all clans moved in the same directions, at the same time, or with the same groups. As one Hopi cultural advisor explained, “…migration routes can be confusing because sometimes the ancestors started somewhere and then went in a circle and came back to where they started”. In addition, the specific cultural groups assigned to Hopi ancestors by archeologists – Anasazi, Sinagua, Hohokam, Mogollon, Salado, Fremont, etc. – are considered arbitrary within a Hopi perspective of the past. As Hopi anthropologist, Ferrell Secakuku simply but confidently reiterates, “To Hopi, these are ancestors they call Hisatsinom, the ancient people”.

Yet this Hopi designation for our ancestors does not have an end so to speak. Rather than viewing them as neatly defined cultures with specific territorial boundaries, Hopi people view their ancestors as being much more dynamic and fluid, with numerous clans, comprising the ancestral populations found throughout the southwest. Unlike “conventional” archaeological cultural designations that confine a group to a certain area based on material culture and assign them to a specific time period, the prehistoric, the Hopi concept of our ancestors does not imply that type of finality to their existence or presence. Hopi concepts about our ancestors evoke a connection that extends to the present that includes the added dimension of spiritual aspects embedded within the ceremonial culture of Hopi.

With this Hopi perspective in mind, is there a way to reach a suitable compromise in preservation work? From an archaeological view, preservation can mean maintaining the scientific value of a site for possible future study. From the Hopi view, applying our understanding that this architecture represents tangible landmarks of Hopi history, the maintaining of these sites affords this legacy to live on. Thus, ruins preservation enables more than preservation of architecture, but also promotes Cultural Preservation.

Fast forward to the modern day, September 2015, as I and a handful of scientists and preservationists embark upon a multi-day river trip down the Colorado River in Grand Canyon. Our mission? To preserve the ancestral “footprints” of Hopi ancestors (as well as a few historic/anglo structures). I thought about this idea as our group made our way down river, from site to site, applying mortar and stone to homes that my ancestors once lived in hundreds of years ago. I distinctly remember sitting at the edge of the alcove at the granaries at Nankoweap, watching clouds cast shadows on the opposing cliff wall across the river. I thought about why I chose to be there, doing work which was counter to what “traditional” Hopi beliefs stated should be allowed to happen.

Hopi oral histories contain the memories and essence of Hopi ancestors and these histories remain viable aspects of Hopi culture. These histories can be reinforced through visitation of sites. Being able to actually experience the landscapes they occupy and seeing first-hand how and where our ancestors lived aids in the understanding of what a “Cultural Landscape” really is. In an age when Indigenous oral histories are continually challenged as viable source information, at least for some scientists, the need to preserve our histories becomes paramount. This includes not just the oral histories, but the actual, for-real-life sites where our ancestors lived. Granting future generations of Hopi to follow their ancestor’s footprints across the landscape.

At the heart of preservation work, lies an inherent act of respect; maintaining our living culture, while honoring our ancestors of a long ago era. Today when a Hopi person visits ancestral villages, we don’t simply see the remnants of a by-gone era, we see reflections of who we once were and what we have now become. We witness the artistic and technical accomplishments of Hopi ancestors, but we recall the spiritual accomplishments of our ancestors as well. We are reminded that in order for the present generations of Hopi to flourish and prosper, we are dependent upon the gifts of our departed ancestors. This is a concept which is based on the Hopi thought that the meaning of the past is what it contributes to life in the present. Thus I will continue to conduct preservation work.

So where do we go from here? As Hopi people working in these fields, we continue to do as we have always done, that is, we do our work with our Hopi history and values always in mind. Through our work, both personally and professionally, we try and impart our traditional knowledge and information to our non-Hopi counterparts in a manner that is also respectful of our own personal and cultural boundaries. In doing so, we serve as human reminders that the people who toiled to build these monuments of stone and mud are not gone. We are still here.

With any luck, the errors of our era will be slight, and as we continue to learn from the past century of stabilization, hopefully those who come after us will learn and benefit from the work we do now. But in order for that to happen, the integrity of the architecture, both the cultural and scientific, must always be considered first. We owe it to our Hopi ancestors who originally built and occupied these places to respect their efforts, and therefore we must strive to present the truest form of their hard work and dedication. For if not by us, the people charged with their care, the Hopi cultural preservationists and specialists, then by whom?

“When we visit the Grand Canyon and we come to this area…we just don’t show up empty handed. There’s great preparation that goes into coming down here….we bring offerings for allowing us to come through the passage of this place. As we make our way down here, there are several places that we stop and give these (offerings). We pray for all good things and humanity, great health and life, and abundance-ness from the rain, so that all living species and people throughout the world…can prosper from the growth. These prayers are placed at special areas, such as here (LCR/Colorado River Confluence)” –Hopi Elder.

Every year, a small, unknown number of Hopi people visit the Grand Canyon. Some stand on the rim and gaze into the canyon’s depths, some venture onto the trails and walk paths their ancestors first established, and some climb aboard boats and launch into the heart of the Canyon. No matter what their intentions or reasons for coming to the Canyon, for many of these Hopi visitors, to experience the Canyon is to tread upon Holy Ground where their ancestors dwell.

The journey they undertake is one of healing and remembering; to pay their respects and embark upon paths that their ancestors have followed for generations. They go with no fanfare, carrying only the prayers of their family and friends. They bring simple offerings, peaceful minds and humble hearts. They set off into the abyss and enter the depths. They enter the womb of the earth. For some, it is a return to visit old haunts they have known for years. For others, it will be an introduction, a brand new experience to learn and re-learn about themselves and who they are as Hopi People.

These experiences differ from individual to individual, the reality being that there is no one single Hopi perspective about the canyon and the river. Hopi society consists of a diverse set of histories, ideas, and beliefs. This has always been the case. With over 30 Hopi clans, distributed among 3 mesas and 13 villages, there are differences in how individual Hopis regard the canyon landscape. Just as the view changes with each bend in the river or with each layer of geology ascended or descended, the Hopi perception all depends on the cultural “ground” within which the individual is rooted.

Hopis at South Canyon.

Some Hopi clans have very direct ties to the canyon, often based in epic pilgrimages to places like the Sipapuni and Hopi Salt Mines. Other clans may have had very little interaction within the canyon, at least in the historical past. In addition, gender also plays a part in the degree to which a Hopi person experiences the canyon. Hopi females, as a cultural rule, are not advised to enter the depths of the canyon. This is due to the fact that while the canyon is considered “Holy Ground”, it is also a place of danger, which can manifest itself in the physical and spiritual realms.

Females, by their ability to birth, raise children and thus perpetuate Hopi culture, are cherished within Hopi society and thus are afforded certain protective status. To place a Hopi female in harms way, by means of entering the canyon, is considered a cultural taboo. Some may say this is a just another form of gender discrimination, but you must ask yourself, from which cultural “ground” is one making that statement? Nevertheless, Hopi females play an important role in maintaining the cultural connection with the Canyon as they provide the males with various traditional foods and prayers that are ritually offered prior to entering the Canyon. These offerings ensure safe passage not only for the Hopi men who venture down the river, but also include the non-Hopi boatmen and personnel who accompany them.

Female Ceremonial Headdress.

Thus the specific cultural knowledge a certain individual Hopi may have about the canyon depends on a wide array of factors. All that being said, I feel there is a general perspective that most, if not all, Hopi people have about the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River. This perspective is evident even if a Hopi person has never hiked, rafted or visited the canyon at all. It is a perspective that is rooted within the overall ideology of Hopi culture, and applies not just to the Grand Canyon landscape, but all of ancestral Hopi lands (which includes all of the Southwest, parts of Mexico and further south, again depending on specific clan histories).

Within Hopi culture is the belief that the meaning of the past is what it contributes to life in the present. This belief underlies the inherent connection that Hopi people have with the landscapes of their ancestors. How this connection manifests itself, often daily, is in the cultural knowledge and traditional know-how a Hopi person maintains. This knowledge is evident in many forms within traditional Hopi culture; the crops we grow and eat, the homes we occupy, the tools we use, the art we create, the ceremonies we enact and the language we speak. All of which is really an accumulation of ancestral Hopi experiences, learned over countless generations

Within the canyon, and throughout the Southwest, are thousands of areas both natural and human-made that are imbued with a powerful sense of meaning and connection for modern Hopi people. Today, when a Hopi person visits such places, we don’t simply see the remnants of a by-gone era, we see reflections of who we once were and what we have now become. We witness the artistic and technical accomplishments of Hopi ancestors, and we recall the spiritual accomplishments of our ancestors as well. We are reminded that in order for the present generations of Hopi to flourish and prosper, we are dependent upon the gifts of our departed ancestors. Ferguson and Kuwanwisiwma write (2004),

Ancestral villages that have fallen into ruin are not dead places whose only meaning comes from scientific values. The Hopi ancestors who lived in these villages still spiritually occupy these places, and these ancestors play an integral role in the contemporary Hopi ceremonies that bring rain, fertility, and other blessings for the Hopi people and their neighbors throughout the world. ‘Itaakuku’ ­­–footprints –are thus a part of the living legacy of the ancestors, and they play a vital role in the religious activities essential to the perpetuation of Hopi society.

In essence, by acknowledging our ancestors existence, they acknowledge ours through the answering of our prayers. This understanding provides a continual connection between modern Hopi people and their ancestors. This connection is contained within the landscapes, wherein Hopi ancestors interacted with their natural environments, leaving a legacy behind that their descendants must now strive to continue.

Visiting Nankoweap Granaries.

For the fortunate Hopi males who venture into the canyon on annual river trips, sponsored by the Hopi Cultural Preservation Office through partnerships with the National Park Service, the Bureau of Reclamation and other agencies, there are opportunities to renew spiritual connections with ancestral landscapes.

Numerous ancestral Hopi villages and settlements are located along the great rivers of the Southwest and they continue to be honored in story, song and prayer. Some of the Hopi names include Pisis’vayu, an archaic term referring to the Colorado River, Yotse’vayu, “The Ute River” (The San Juan), Hopaqvayu, “The River of the Northeast” (The Rio Grande), Hotsikvayu, “The Winding River” (The Verde River) and Palavayu, “The Red River” (The Little Colorado), to name just a few. As attested to by these names and meanings, these rivers and many others continue to remain a viable part of the Hopi Cultural Landscape and serve to connect modern Hopi people to regions located far from the current Hopi Reservation.

Yotse’vayu: San Juan River.

Yet while these waters remain culturally important to the modern Hopi, historically there was little consideration of this continued importance to the Hopi and other tribes by modern politics and federal guidelines. Many decisions are made by politicians on how rivers in the Southwest are to be managed and used, but most, if not all of these decisions do not address the interests and needs (let alone the cultural relevance) of rivers to Native Tribes, including Hopi. However, there are some renewed attempts by the federal government to include perspectives of Native Tribes, particularly the Hopi, in current management strategies of resources in and along Southwestern Rivers.

Throughout the 1990s, the Hopi Tribe was involved in two research and documentation projects concerning the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon. During the initial years of 1991-1995, the Hopi Tribe became among the first Native American tribes to request “Cooperating Agency” status in the development of the Glen Canyon Environmental Studies (GCES), which resulted in a comprehensive overview of Hopi history and culture related to the Grand Canyon (Ferguson 1998). In subsequent years, 1998-1999, the Hopi Tribe was again a “Cooperating Agency” in the development of the Glen Canyon Dam Environmental Impact Study (GCDEIS), a lengthy documentation and research project undertaken to assess the impacts of the operations of Glen Canyon Dam on the natural and cultural resources found along the river corridor. The work the Hopi conducted on GCDEIS built on the previous GCES and resulted in another report specifically documenting Hopi Ethnobotany perspectives and information (Lomaomvaya, Ferguson and Yeatts 2001).

Both studies were parts of a larger undertaking entitled the Glen Canyon Dam Adaptive Management Program (GCDAMP), administered by the Grand Canyon Monitoring and Research Center (GCMRC), an entity of the United States Geologic Survey (USGS). Funding for both of the studies originated with the Bureau of Reclamation (BOR) which operates the release of water from Glen Canyon Dam.

The work the Hopi groups conducted during these two projects was successful in showing the vast and complex set of knowledge that Hopi people still retain about a region that is located well outside modern reservation boundaries. But let’s be honest and say that political boundaries, such as the reservation, are quite arbitrary and meaningless for most Hopis. Our connections to lands have no boundaries just as our knowledge about these places traverses boundaries and wipes them off the map. The idea of a mental cultural landscape remains within Traditional Hopi Knowledge.

During these cultural trips, Hopi “researchers” (i.e. knowledgeable Hopi people representing clans, religious societies, herbalists, artists and farmers) spent considerable time documenting Hopi perspectives concerning cultural and natural resources found along the inner river corridor. Documentation came from various river trips, 5 in the first study and 2 in the second study, which were guided by Anglo river guides and other scientists from various agencies who were familiar with the logistics of getting to and from these sites. That isn’t to say the Hopis don’t have a lot to say about these places. Many of the Hopis who participate in these trips had indeed heard of these places through the oral tradition as passed down from their own elders.

Hill Top Ruin Landscapes.

Thus they come with a wealth of cultural knowledge, which helps to bring the Hopi presence within the Grand Canyon from the prehistoric (a static archaeological perspective) into the modern era. Hopis have always stated we are a living culture. That is the knowledge about our history isn’t relegated to just the past, it lives in the present amongst the Hopis who retain and continue to use such information in our daily and ceremonial lives. Whereas strict archaeological perspectives portray ancestral Hopi lifeways as relegated to the “prehistoric”, Hopis view these lifeways as a continuation over time, constantly evolving with the interactions within our environments.

As a part of the Hopi research within the canyon, hundreds of ancestral Hopi sites, as well as plants and animals that hold central roles in modern Hopi culture were documented. So it comes as no surprise to the Hopi groups that remains of these plants and animals are also found during archaeological excavations conducted along the river. It proves that our knowledge of the natural world has traversed time, carrying on from one generation to the next. The concept of the living culture of Hopi shining brightly in the archaeologists’ excavation pits, yet more importantly, within the minds of modern Hopi people.

The Hopi term, Kyaptsi translates as “Respect”. Maintaining the living culture of Hopi requires respect, not simply saying the word, but putting action into the meaning. One way this is achieved is through the continued practice of Hopi culture, including the visitation and protection of ancestral homes such as the Grand Canyon. Only through these continued efforts will future generations of Hopi people have their own cultural ground to stand upon; providing them the opportunity to interact with their ancestral past as we have done since time immemorial.

When Hopi ancestors “emerged” into this world, they were among the first to experience the spirit of the canyon, establishing a presence that is a vital part of the history of this unique landscape. Thus the modern Hopi tribal presence within the canyon has helped show to the outside world what we have always known; We Are The Canyon.